


Hold True

by Shabby Abby (KJPearl)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Druids, First Meetings, Gen, Secret Samol, it's kind of sad but only so it can get happier, pre-Lem/Fero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 11:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJPearl/pseuds/Shabby%20Abby
Summary: How Fero met LemAka the series of poorly planned, bad decisions that led Fero to the best decision of his life





	Hold True

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Samol gift for emily @hedgemice

Fero had been in these mountains for a  while. He wasn't sure how long, time didn't matter so much to mice. Just the passage of scurrying days and sleeping nights in slow and steady rotation. At one point the hills of Rosemerrow had faded to a forest and then that forest faded to mountains. There was less and less to eat here, but one of the few things Fero still remembered with absolute clarity was that he wasn’t supposed to go back. Never go back to Rosemerrow. His memories of Rosemerrow grew hazier each day, but he remembered enough to know they weren’t good. If he really needed to, he could transform into...something else. Fero didn’t know any mountain animals, but he was sure he could learn some with enough time. It had been a while since he had transformed into a new animal — it had been a while since he transformed at all — but Fero didn’t think it was something you could forget.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a noise and froze, nose and ears twitching, searching for some kind of predator. Maybe a bird? He scurried to get shelter under an outcropping of rocks as the noise slowly condensed itself into...words. It took Fero a second to recognize it as language and even longer to understand it.

“...thirteen mice, why thirteen? Never mind, it’s all part of the pattern. At least there’s only one left. Where are you hiding, little mouse?” the voice came from high up, not that many things weren’t high up for a mouse, and it was heading his way quickly. It was deep, but gentle. It would be soothing except for the words. Fero shivered. He was a mouse. What did this person want with mice? He was pretty sure most people didn’t eat mice, but maybe this one was just very desperate. He stayed as still and quiet as he could as the steps grew closer, sending vibrations through the ground.

“Thirteen mice, moved an inch,” the voice continued, “seems like an inconvenience more than anything. A waste of time for students who ask too many questions. ‘Oh Lem, you’re supposed to record other people’s music, not make your own.’ Well, I don’t think it’s that strange to want to get some first hand understanding of the whole—”

The voice cut off suddenly, directly above him, and a large green face came into Fero’s view. Time to make a break for it. But it was too late. He felt himself being picked up. Fero fought back with all the instincts of his mousey body, squirming and biting. He got a good one in on the orc’s finger, but it still wasn’t enough for the orc to drop him. Then Fero felt himself being gently lowered back down to a spot right next to his hiding place. He fought the mouse instinct to run in favour of his own anger.

_ Rude,  _ he yelled up at the orc even though Fero doubted he understood mouse.

“Strange,” the orc mused, “all the others ran away when I set them down. You’re a peculiar fellow.”

_ And you’re an asshole,  _ Fero muttered. 

“Guess you’re just really annoyed with me,” the orc grinned and Fero found himself hit with some distinctly non-mouse feelings. The kind of feelings he hadn’t had in a long while. He looked up and realized the orc was attractive. Tall and broad the way Fero had always liked, with a nervous smile that revealed his tusks, carved in a wave pattern that reminded Fero of the ocean. The orc looked right at him, and even though it was probably nothing more than passing curiosity, it was attention. More than than he’d gotten in Rosemerrow in years. In Rosemerrow he’d been nothing more than the young Feritas boy with only one name. But no, Fero didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about this weird orc and the people-feelings he brought up in Fero. So Fero ran.

He kept going until he reached a cave a good distance from where he’d seen the orc. He looked around to check there was no one around to see him, before he did something he hadn’t done in ages. Fero transformed back into himself, into a halfling. The whole world shifted as he grew taller. His sense of smell worsened and suddenly he could see the full range of colors again. It took him a few seconds to adjust, to remember that rocks and trees and the sky had looked this way for most of his life. And then he looked down at himself, still wearing the clothes he’d worn the day he ran away. These were clothes he’d bought from cousin Lena’s clothing shop, the bright green faded dull in some places. His mother's careful stitches mending the holes he’d always been prone to making.

The memories of Rosemerrow, of his life, came back into focus sharply. Things he’d always wanted to forget and at the same time never though he actually would, rushed back like a river speeding over a broken dam. Memories of working on the Feritas farm with his family, of school friends who had forgotten him over the summer, of bustling Rosemerrow full of people and still so lonely.

Fero’s head hurt, and the sunlight only made it worse so he closed his eyes and drew further back into the cave until he finally found relief in sleep.

*

Fero woke to sunlight in a cave, morning rays shining through the entrance. It took him a moment to remember how he had ended up there. But then it all came back. Rosemerrow, running away, living as a mouse, and then that orc. 

Fero left his cave, taking deep breaths, savouring the rise and fall of his own halfling chest. He relearned how to walk with every step he took, gaining a new awareness of his balance, remembering how to spread weight across two legs rather than four. He looked around at the trees, noticing the brown leaves littering the ground. That meant autumn. It also meant Fero had been out here for months. He’d left Rosemerrow in the warming days of early spring. He remembered the day it happened. Waking up one morning to see the snow melted from the clear field, almost ready for spring tilling. In that field he saw his whole life stretched out in front of him. Trapped in a town he hated, where people never looked at him, farming for the rest of his life. He’d had to leave.

Now Fero wondered if he’d done any better the past year. He’d been a mouse. He’d been so completely a mouse that he’d almost forgotten himself entirely. Wasn’t that just the dumbest thing, the most Fero thing. Run away to find adventure and just waste away in a different prison. He couldn’t go back to Rosemerrow, but he also couldn’t go back to being a mouse, Fero knew.

He had to go forward. But where. Vaguely remembering geography, Fero figured he must have gone all the way to the New Archives based on the mountains. And the orc, he must have been an archivist. That would explain the pattern nonsense he’d been talking about.

That would be his new plan, Fero decided. The archivist had been the one to break him out of his last prison and maybe he would be the one to lead him to real adventure.

He’d have to check him out, incognito, before committing to anything. Fero would follow him around for a while, figure out who the orc was before introducing himself. A bird would be best, a sparrow maybe. Fero took a deep breath and focused on sparrows. There'd been plenty around Rosemerrow. They’d been one of the first animals he’d turned into, back when just flying over Rosemerrow had been enough to make him feel free. Fero remembered the feeling of wings and beak and claws, and then suddenly he was a bird. He flapped his wings and with a quick hop he was airborne with all the instincts of a bird.

Then panic. Racing heart. He wasn’t a bird. He was Fero. He couldn’t go back to living like an animal. And he fell to the ground, halfling again.

He yelled, a wordless sound of annoyance, and it echoed back through the trees and mountains. No. This wasn’t fair, he’d been transforming into animals for ages with no problem and one fucking mistake suddenly ruined his only path to adventure. No! He refused. He just needed to focus. He could do this, he’d done it for years. He would do it again. Fero concentrated again, on wings and beak and claws and flight. Nothing happened.

Fero sat down, disgruntled. This sucked, he’d finally come up with a good plan and now his powers decided to fuck up. He felt his eyes filling and tried to quickly blink away the tears. He could deal with this. He knew he could, it was just a question of how. Fero stayed like that for a while, unsure how to continue, until he noticed a bird flying overhead.

_ Hey,  _ he called out.

_ Hello, _ the bird, a male starling Fero could now see, fluttered down to a nearby tree.

_ How, um— This is gonna sound stupid but how do you fly? I mean, not just wings and stuff but like when you migrate. How do you know where to go? When to go? _

_ You just feel it,  _ the bird frowned as much as birds could,  _ You leave when it’s cold and go to the warmth. _

_ And to get back? _

_ All you really need to know where your favourite nest-spots are, then it doesn’t matter where you go. You just use your wings to fly back home when it’s time,  _ the bird said. He made it sound easy. And maybe it was for birds. But Fero wasn’t a bird.

_ What if I don’t have a home?  _ Fero wrapped his arms around his torso and looked down.

_ Well that's alright. Everyone has to just build their first nest, you just find a nice, safe spot and start building. I’ve used the same one for a few seasons,  _ he confided, I _ t’s very important to sing while building, that’s how you get a good mate to join you. _

_ Oh— uh— that’s,  _ Fero stammered, _ I’m not looking for a mate. _

_ Of course,  _ the bird said. If birds could roll their eyes, his would be spinning.

_ Don’t be sarcastic with me. I’m serious! Super serious! _

_ Well, there’s no need to be rude, _ the bird flew away indignantly.

That had been...not entirely unhelpful, Fero realized. It was a little more intense than migration, but why not use his home to ground him to being a person while he transformed. It was worth a shot. Fero concentrated again, on the feeling of transforming but this time also of flying over Rosemerrow skies. He remembered the freedom he’d felt. Then he remembered the need to escape, to run away and never come back. Fero groaned, that would never work. Rosemerrow wasn’t his home. It hadn’t been in ages. Maybe in ever.

But maybe he didn’t need a home like that, tied to a single city. Not when there was all of Heiron. From the mountains to the hills to the forests to the sea, he could be at home anywhere. He was Fero Feritas, the Druid, Son of the Fields, Life of the Granite, Skin of the Mountain, Of Foot, Of Paw, Of Hoof, Of Claw, Of Tooth and Maw, Very Handsome, Deserves the Longest Name. He smiled at the last bit, a joke from the forest. He could be both bird and halfling. He had been both. He would be both. That was what it meant to be a druid. He could explore Heiron on foot and hoof and wing and fin and enjoy it regardless. 

Fero felt himself turning into a bird, more slowly this time, but still. He paused, giving himself a moment to adapt to the new body whispering to himself the whole time,  _ I am Fero Feritas, the druid. I am a bird and also me. I can be both. _

When he felt calm enough he took flight again, continuing his mantra, and this time it worked. He shot up into the air, above the ground, above the treeline, until he could see properly. He spent the whole day in flight, relishing in it, but also exploring. He traveled over the mountain, finding water and food and eventually the New Archives. They weren’t far from his cave, which explained how the orc had stumbled upon him. As he flew, Fero admired the warren of buildings carved into the mountain and ground. A good use of space, he figured, and it seemed cozy in a way that reminded him of the time he had spent as a mole. The orcs were very good carvers, the stone outside was carefully shaped into houses covered in intricate repeating patterns. He knew orcs used patterns for magic and wondered if the wall carvings meant anything. Maybe the repeating circles were protection from war, or a charm for good harvest, or maybe they were nothing at all. He would ask the orc if he ever spoke to him.

Fero hung around the Archives the rest of the afternoon, and while that did score him some seeds and breadcrumbs from wandering orcs none of them were  _ his _ orc. Fero had considered maybe speaking to one of them instead but that didn’t feel right.  _ His _ orc was the one that had reminded him of being human. And, a traitorous voice in the back of his head whispered,  _ his _ orc was the attractive one. He tried to remind himself that the orc had only seen him as a mouse. He probably wouldn’t even be that interested in Fero when they met. In fact, if the orc hadn’t been the first one to speak to him in almost a year, Fero probably wouldn’t have even gotten this, well, crush. Fero had never been that good at lying to himself. The orc had been interesting and they’d had a cute smile and Fero wanted to meet them enough that he barely minded the thought of waiting. That was definitely crush territory and he may as well admit it.

So when it started to grow dark, Fero headed to the bush near his cave where he’d found some berries and transformed back into a halfling. He inspected them carefully, and concluded that they were the same wild blackberries that grew in the north of Rosemerrow. He ate until he was full then walked the rest of the way to his cave where he fell asleep as halfling.

*

Fero woke with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in ages and renewed confidence in his plan. This would work! He would find adventure! He just knew it. He quickly flew back to the New Archives and there he saw him, the orc. In his excitement, Fero simply flew right up to him and landed on top of his head.

“What the—” the orc muttered, shifting as if to look up and see what had hit him. Fero quickly jumped from his now shakey perch in annoyance. The orc noticed him with confusion.

“A bird? Did you just land on my head?” the orc asked it seriously, as though he expected Fero to answer, so Fero gave him a quick chirp of affirmation.

“Oh gods, I’m talking to a bird,” the orc said, “As if I wasn’t strange enough. But never you mind that, bird. You can just go about your day. Go along now, my head is not a tree or whatever it was you were looking for.”

_ You’re exactly what I was looking for and I’m not leaving until you find me an adventure,  _ Fero said as he landed on the orc’s shoulder. The orc may not have understood his words, but he got the body language well enough.

“What? No! Shoo!” the orc fluttered his hands around, but Fero had made up his mind and he wasn’t going to be swayed that easily. He gave the orc a warning peck when his hand got a bit too close and followed it up with a scolding chirp.

“My second animal attack this week, what has gotten into the animals in this area?” the orc sighed and began walking, “Well, I guess you’re sticking around. I suppose you’re someone's lost pet. Or maybe... you’ve been cursed into being a bird? Chirp twice if you're cursed.”

Fero ignored him.

“I suppose not, then. You could still be a pet. I’ll bring you to the Department of the Lost and the Found. I’m sure they have a missing pets division somewhere in all the bureaucracy, but that can wait until this evening. I still have this homework. Hey, bird, if you were considering training as an archivist, may I strongly recommend against it? Because apparently it’s all tedious searches for ridiculous things. Today I need to count the petals on every yellow flower in gardens on the west side of the Archives.”

Fero laughed. Laughing came out weird in birds, a breathy cawing, and the orc gave him a strange look.

“Are you laughing at me, bird?” he sounded annoyed for an instant before it faded into a brief chuckle of his own, “I suppose it is rather funny. Probably not as funny as me imaging that birds are laughing at me, but I might as well appreciate the company I can get, however imaginary it may be.”

The orc continued walking in silence for a while, and Fero found himself enjoying it as much as he had enjoyed his earlier babbling. The orc walked slowly to avoid jostling him and would occasionally hum a piece of a song. Fero was feeling increasingly confident in his new plan. This orc would be interesting enough to lead him to adventures for sure.

When they reached the west side of the Archives, the orc headed over to the nearest flower bed and knelt down to count the yellow petals. He pulled a small note pad out of one of the many pockets on his vest and began to write down corresponding tallies. Fero watched curiously for a while before he started getting bored. He flew over to the orc’s backpack and tugged open the big pocket.

“Hey!” the orc spun around, knocking Fero off the bag.

_ Dude!  _ Fero yelled, wings flapping furiously to regain his balance.

“No! Bad bird! Don’t open that.”

Fero gave the orc an unimpressed look.

“Don’t give me that look. There’s delicate things in there, it’s not bird food or whatever you’re looking for—” 

“Hey, Lem,” another voice called out and the orc, apparently Lem, cut off mid-rant and turned bright red.

“Uh— Hey, Devar,” he sputtered.

“Man, were you just talking to a bird?” said the other orc, walking over. This one was dressed in a bright shirt like nothing Fero had ever seen before.

“Um,” Lem went impossibly redder, it was cute, “No?”

“You totally were! You gotta get out more, did I tell you about the party I’m throwing this weekend?” Devar leaned closer to Lem, placing an hand on his shoulder. Fero decided he didn’t like this orc.

“It’s nice of you to offer, Devar, but as I’ve said before I’m not really one for parties,” Lem shrugged slightly, displacing Devar’s arm. Fero flew over to perch on the newly freed shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Devar. The orc narrowed his eyes at Fero.

“You have a weird bird, man.”

“It’s not really mine. It just started following me around this morning. It’s mostly tame but a bit a trouble-maker,” Lem turned to Fero and frowned.

_ I was just checking it out. I wouldn’t have broken anything,  _ Fero pouted.

“Sure. Whatever. Still a weird bird,” Devar said.

“If you say so,” Lem said, tone sharp, “Anyway, I should really be getting on with my work.”

“Okay. If you change your mind about the party the invite is always open,” Devar said as he walked away.

Fero flew back to the bag.

“Really?” Lem sighed, “Fine, you can look but if you mess with anything I’ll actually shoo you away for real, pet or not.”

Fero chirped happily and flew up to nuzzle Lem’s neck briefly before he went back to lifting the top layer of his bag.

“Devar is right, you are a weird bird,” Lem mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, further messing up his already loose bun, before he turned back to the flowers. 

Fero finally managed to open the bag and flew in triumphantly. The first thing he noticed was the books and the loose papers and the notepads. Boring, boring, and boring. He dug slightly deeper and found a glass vial. He carefully grasped it in his beak and pulled it out into the sunlight to examine it. He set it gently on the ground and jumped back to get a good look. It was filled with some kind of sparkly powder. Fero tilted his head and the sparkle shifted, at one point almost blinding him. He squawked angrily at it.

“What are you doing now,” Lem turned to him, scratching another quick mark in his book, “Oh, be careful with the glitter. That stuff makes an absolute mess if it spills.”

Fero tilted his head curiously.

“Oh it doesn’t really do much, just sparkles. It’s a type of pre-erassure decoration. I just keep it because it looks nice, but the pieces are very small and very itchy. Speaking from experience,” Lem chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Fero made a game of rolling the glitter vial around. When that got boring he picked it up and began flying around Lem’s head trying to reflect into into his eyes.

At first Lem just moved his head slightly, but Fero quickly got better at adjusting it until Lem couldn’t dodge it. He began to laugh. It was a beautiful sound, soft and joyful.

“Okay, bird, I can see you’re having fun but I do have homework, and I’ve marked all the petals in this garden so we’re going to have to move along. Well, I’m going to move, I suppose you can do whatever you’d like,” Lem gently took the glitter and returned it to his pack before standing. He walked over to the next flower bed. Once he settled there Fero dove back into the bag, this time rising with some kind of connected metal sticks. They joined at the one end on could be pulled apart on the other. Fero had much more difficulty opening them as a bird than someone with opposable thumbs would, but that only made it more of an accomplishment when he finally pried the them apart. He stuck the pointed end of one side in the ground and made a show of balancing in the other. He turned to see Lem too engrossed in his counting to notice and chirped loudly to get his attention. Lem looked up at him with a smile. Then his eyes continued past Fero and his face fell. Fero turned to see the yellow flowers, scattred up along the mountainous side of the Archives.

“How am I supposed to count all those petal,” Lem muttered anxiously.

Then Fero had an idea. A good, friend making idea. He flew over to the nearest flowers, these ones growing in a window flower box, and counted the sixteen petals. Then he flew back to Lem and carefully carved sixteen lines into the ground. Lem looked from him to the ground and then back.

“Bird, did you count those flowers?” Lem asked.

Fero chirped.

“Was that a— No, what am I doing. Talking to a bird like it could possibly answer. Maybe Devar was right—”

Fero interrupted with a disdainful noise.

“Do you have something against Devar?”

Fero shrugged.

“No, no, no. A bird did not just shrug at me. There is no way this is happening,” Fero could see Lem’s breath quicken and his speech became increasingly panicked. Oh no. That wasn’t right at all. Fero did the first thing he could think of and shifted quickly into a cat, pouncing onto Lem’s chest and rubbing himself against the orc.

Lem’s arms instinctively rose to cradle him and then he froze.

“Bird, you are now a cat. Please explain yourself,” Lem’s voice quivered. Fero gave him a reassuring nuzzle and purr before jumping down. He hadn’t really planned to introduce himself so quickly, but he’d never been much for plans. So Fero transformed back into his halfling form and hoped for the best.

“Hi! I’m Fero, Fero Feritas,” Fero said. He felt something wrong with his voice. He could feel it in the roughness of his unpracticed throat and the croak that echoed in his voice. The speed, too, was not quite right after too long spent unused.

“You— what— how—” Lem sputtered.

“I’m, well, I’m a druid so I can turn into animals and stuff. And a few days ago I was just minding my business as a mouse when some giant just picks me up and moves me around. Kinda rude, you know?” Fero said. He could hear the jittery fits and starts in his speech as he readjusted to the flow of conversation.

“Um, I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s cool. I had maybe spent a bit too long as a mouse. So, really it was a good wake up call. And then I was thinking, well maybe we could…” Fero trailed off. He kept his gaze on his feet, kicking little swirls into the dirt.

Lem sat silent, staring up at him in shock. Or maybe in fear. Fero had scared people with his powers before. He remembered back in Rosemerrow, when he was slowly learning his powers. He’d been playing tag with a friend and suddenly had the thought to turn into a jaguar to catch her quicker. He remembered the color draining from her face. Her eyes wide in fear and wet with tears. It had been a mistake. Classic Fero and his poor impulse control. It had ruined their friendship. And a similar look now in Lem’s eyes. This was all wrong. This was all a mistake.

"Whatever. It's nothing. I'll leave you alone," Fero readied himself to turn back into a bird. But before he could focus, he was interrupted.

"No! Wait, just give me a moment. You must see this whole thing is rather shocking," Lem finally managed. His voice shook, and he breathed with shuddering inhales and exhales that had yet to settle from his earlier panic. The panic Fero had inspired.

“I guess,” Fero shrugged, “I’m pretty used to it at this point.”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean— Not that you’re shocking. Just the powers. No, sorry that doesn’t sound—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Fero cut in, “I should be apologizing to you. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to get to know you.”

“As a bird?”

Fero shrugged again. He supposed it hadn’t really occurred to him to do it any other way.

“Oh,” Lem’s face fell pityingly.

“I don’t need your pity!” Fero felt himself tense, ready to transform and run away. Ready to be rejected here just like everywhere else.

“I don’t pity you, Fero,” Lem said slowly, like he was carefully measuring the effect of each word.

“Then why are you making that face?” Fero demanded.

“Because I’m unhappy that you don’t feel comfortable around me.”

“You don’t even know me,” Fero whispered. People who knew him never wanted him.

“I’m getting to know you. I know you’re funny and easily bored. I know you can transform into animals. I know you’re fascinating, and I want to get to know you even more,” Lem listed it all out so matter of factly, as though he saw nothing wrong with Fero. Lem didn’t mind his stupid jokes or short attention span or weird magic. Fero felt a hope blooming inside him.

“Like friends?” Fero asked.

“Exactly friends.”

“Oh,” Fero felt something warm spreading throughout his chest, “That would be nice. And I can help you count all the petals high up the mountain.”

“That would be...nice,” Lem said with a wide smile Fero could feel reflected on his own face.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @abbyisshabby


End file.
